


Hero Worship

by Schonste (Churchwarden)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-20
Updated: 2010-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-14 16:50:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Churchwarden/pseuds/Schonste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garak gives in to Ziyal's endless pursuit, if only this once.  Follows Observer/A Jealous Cup somewhat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero Worship

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #95: Traumatized. Warnings: Incestuous thoughts implied.  
> I wrote this for the lulz and honestly if you're not really into het, it's not that explicit--it's more of a base for more of my G/B ficlets to draw from. :x

Despite Garak’s original intention to take Ziyal up on her unsubtle offer of private camaraderie, he had found that he had trouble dismissing her feelings so easily to take advantage of her. When she came to his shop with a few of her sewing samples, he locked the door for their privacy and spent the next three hours discussing proper fashion design.  
  
Ziyal left, possibly with a little less skip in her step than usual, but with a lot of ideas for how to improve her designs.  
  
Not that she liked designing clothes, Garak knew. She just wanted to find excuses to spend time with him. And she did. She returned off and on to his shop with drawings of dresses and pants and tunics on lovingly rendered little Cardassian figures. Her designs were tacky, immodest and appalling, Garak thought, but her drawings were charming, and he’d noted it. The next time they met, she had a giant sketchbook that he had perused with unabashed pleasure. The textile arts had failed the girl, but her grasp of illustration was pleasing to say the least.  
  
Ziyal basked in his praise of whatever she showed him like she basked in the sauna. He had seen this plenty of times, as well, though their time shared in the holosuite had always remained clothed and purely friendly. Garak was not unobservant. He could feel her watching him, and he had been around long enough to know when someone was staring at his lips and imagining the taste, or eyeing the thick ridges of his neck and imagining just how satisfying it would be to sink one’s teeth in them.  
  
The attention did not disturb him. As a matter of fact, Garak had spent most of his time in the past weeks with her, after the awkward conversation he had had with Bashir had blown up. He found he was rather getting used to her gazes, her words, and her intentions. When she invited him into the sauna that evening, he obliged with his usual falsified reluctance. Once they entered the suite, however, he began to pull his tunic over his head.  
  
Ziyal said nothing at first, and then, unable to hide her excitement, squeaked, “Shall I turn up the heat, then?”  
  
“That would be  _most_  acceptable,” Garak grinned, though his usual expression of unsure nervousness still seemed to be in place. It was difficult to shake it away; he’d barely been able to let Bashir see his real feelings, and that had been a few years prior, when they had spent one day a week minimum visiting, eating, and arguing. His pants slipped off next, and his shoes, leaving him utterly naked. As he crawled onto the rock, he felt the blistering heat simply warm his cool blood and didn’t hold back an exaggerated sigh of contented pleasure.  
  
He hadn’t even noticed that she had adjusted the temperature, or even that her perfectly tailored dress was crumpled next to his clothing. He did notice when she walked past him to circle the large slab of stones he was spread out on. He stopped her, his hand snapping out to catch her wrist in a possessive grip. Her skin was softer than a full blood Cardassian’s, and in combination with the heat, she was practically as supple as a full blood Bajoran. He looked up at her flushed face, and not for the first time, he found himself utterly charmed by the crinkles across the bridge of her nose. “Ziyal,” he cooed, and saw her whole soft, subtly-ridged figure tremble with intensity.  
  
Garak let go of her wrist. Ziyal stood, holding her breath, her whole body rigid with the familiar tension of a warrior about to strike. Garak’s fingers landed on his own thigh and he tapped them there only three times before the girl was sitting astride his thighs and blushing from her hairline down to her navel. Curiously, his fingers settled against the unfamiliar small indentation, intent to explore this new body leisurely. His plans were foiled by the teenager’s unmasked exuberance, and soon her soft, pale pink body was covered in bite marks. She surrendered easily, pinned under Garak’s lithe mass, and as he shoved into her he swore he heard her gasp out some short word, but suddenly all he could feel was searing need and buttery tightness. Her voice grew in volume, just high pitched pants until her fingers grabbed onto his arousal-flared neck, repeating the same desperate beg again and again: please.  
  
It was shocking how much he had missed this kind of non-alien intimacy, and when he lost himself in her, everything suddenly felt utterly clear. He could hear every word she breathed, every scale scraping on the rock, every drop of their mingled need landing on the rock with a sizzle. He also heard her tiny, desperate gasp as her climax rippled along his slippery length: “ _Daddy_ …”  
  
If only he had been too far gone to hear it. He was still buried deep in her, her fingers still holding onto overly sensitive parts of him, and her eyes were shut, head thrown back. She’d—she’d definitely said the diminutive for ‘father’ in Kardasi and didn’t even seem to notice.  
  
Garak felt the strangest emotion start to fill him from the stomach up to his chest. He sat back, separating them, and began to laugh, not quite able to stop himself. Ziyal’s head lifted just a bit, her tender eyeridges lifting in a way that conveyed confused hurt, but Garak was far past the ability to console her. His laughter stopped easily and he looked at her with great interest, folding his arms.  
  
“Daddy?” he asked quite simply, quite plainly.  
  
He didn’t try and stop her when she leapt up with a horrified gasp and got her dress on in minimum time. His chuckle sounded far more satisfied and relaxed than he felt. If only he were on good terms with the gul, he thought, and found himself smirking. Dukat should really hear about this.


End file.
